


Maybe This Time

by Sibre



Category: The Wicked Years Series - Gregory Maguire, Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sibre/pseuds/Sibre
Summary: Epilogue/continuation of Gregory Maguire's The Wicked Years, particularly Out of Oz, with a focus on finishing Liir's story, which was too open-ended and sad for my taste. And what of his one-time lover, Trism? They've suffered enough; maybe they deserve some peace. So, if you're in the mood for a happy ending with some romance, this might be for you. Bonus points if you catch all my references to the original Oz books by L. Frank Baum, but that's just for fun.Some parts are rated Mature for some male/male explicitness, though I stop short of erotica, in my own estimation.





	1. The Wrens

Autumn was ending, and Liir was alone. Rain had now been gone for more than a year; Iskinaary, half a year. He'd sent the Goose after her when the latter's complaints that “someone” should look after her became too frequent to bear. Liir had spent years silently fretting over Rain's welfare, and certainly didn't need it vocalized daily. So the old Goose did care about her, despite all his protestations. Well, better that he should look after her than Liir. Rain didn't need her father anymore — he wasn't certain she ever had. Besides, if she chose to fly on the broom she'd plucked off the tree that had grown above the Grimmerie's former burial place, Iskinaary could keep up. Liir didn't fly anymore.

Not that he wasn't tempted. Even with the Grimmerie gone, the tree stayed strong and healthy, moreso than the plants he actually tended to. Liir started to think it was mocking him. Moreover, he was starting to ache for social contact. He hadn't been alone for this long in years — since his trek to his father's castle in the Vinkus from Quadling Country as a young adult, maybe. Iskinaary had been an abrasive companion, but a quick wit, and Candle, though quiet, had been a stabilizing presence. Both were gone, and who knew if they would ever come back. His treatise was complete, or at least as complete as it was going to get. He hadn't sent it to the Lion or Ozma like he'd intended. While he trusted his ideas as much as anyone's, he'd had no formal education — barely even an informal one — and he was worried that it would seem sloppy and unworthy of their attention in its current state. It was now collecting dust under the bed. Only going through the motions of tending his garden and caring for the chickens and the goat kept him getting up every morning, but even that was getting harder every day. Occasionally, a traveler came through Nether How with some news from the rest of Oz, but these interactions were all too shallow and infrequent. When he'd see a flock of Birds overhead heading for their overwintering homes, he wondered if he should call them down. Or perhaps join them by broom. Silly idea. Birds didn't eat much human food, so how long could that possibly last? Besides, nothing good ever came of anything that originated from the Grimmerie.

One cold morning, after milking the goat, he was surprised to hear the tree talking to him. “Oy! You there!” it shouted in a shrill voice. “Yes, you! Come over here!” Wondering if he’d completely lost his mind, he cautiously approached it.

“There you are, me duckie! It’s right good to be seeing you again, after all this time.” The accent told him what to look for, and he finally spotted the brown speckled Wren that was talking to him. Her coloring made her and her companion — for there were two Wrens in the tree — quite well camouflaged.

“Dosey!” he said, grateful to see a familiar face, though it was graying and missing a few feathers. “What brings you here?”

“Why, I’m here to see you again, ain’t I?” Dosey replied. “Ain’t no other reason to drop by this neck of the woods! I wanted you to meet my granddaughter Molly here.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I’m a big fan,” said the second Wren. “Granny’s tole me all about your big flight with the Conference of Birds. ‘Elphaba Lives!’ Surely had the Emperor quakin’ in his slippers! And then we all know about how you foiled Mombey’s spell as an Elephant, and came back to life at the same time. Amazin’!”

“I was barely conscious for that,” Liir confessed. “I had to be told about the details later. I understand the Birds destroyed her army of magic spiders, so really you deserve more of the credit than I.”

“It was surely a team effort, sir Liir. But I did kill one of them spiderfings meself, thank you very much,” said Dosey, puffing up with pride. “And we Birds were the ones who announced to all Oz that Ozma had returned. If not, Mombey would have covered it up, quick as you please!”

“She would have, wouldn’t she? It’s incredible what you Birds can do when you organize.”

“You Birds, he says,” said Dosey. “You’re a Bird, too, and don’t you forget it!”

“Once a Bird, always a Bird!” added Molly.

Liir sighed. “I don’t fly anymore. Some Bird I am.”

“Well, that’s the way of things, innit?” said Dosey. “Your girl left the nest, and she flies for you now. Your life may be at an end, but the next generations carry on. I’ve only a few years left meself — every winter gets harder, it does. That’s why I’m taking Molly here to see you now, before it’s too late for me 'n you.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Liir said, sincerely. “Humans live longer than Wrens, though. I don’t think I’m at the end of my life, just yet.”

“Ain’t you? Beggin’ your pardon, but you don’t look well,” Dosey said. “Your face looks like some o’ them corpses that gets left out on mountains sometimes, all drawn in.”

Liir hadn’t seen his reflection in some time, but he did know that he’d lost substantial weight since he’d been living alone. But he was still moving around, wasn’t he? He’d been tiring easily of late, but he’d attributed that to simple boredom.

“Don’t mean to be insulting, sir,” Dosey continued, after digging her beak under her wing for a moment. “I don’t much know what humans are supposed to look like. Don’t talk to ‘em much. Still, though, with your girl takin’ your mum’s old broom, I suppose you won’t be flyin’ again, and that means life’s as good as over, anyway. Nothin’ to cry about, though, we’ve all got to go sometime! Just so long as you’ve had a good life, nothin’ to cry about a’tall!”

Liir didn’t know what to say to that, but something about his expression, or his silence, made Molly tilt her head. “You’ve had a good life, haven’t you, sir? You must have, you’ve accomplished so much! We still tell tales of you, in my family at least.”

“I...don’t know. My accomplishments — it hardly feels like I was involved in them at all. I just went with the flow, and they happened around me. They certainly never brought me any joy.”

“Well, they brought us joy, and no mistake,” said Dosey. “First free from dragons, then free from Mombey and the Emperor, who used dragons. The skies are free, as they should be, and you, me duckie, had a hand in it.”

“A hand, maybe, but not the will behind it. Don’t thank me for anything. All that ever made me appear competent was Elphaba’s broom, and now it’s taken root, like me.” He gestured toward the tree the Wrens were perching in.

“You mean it’s this tree?” asked Dosey, leaning over to examine the roots. “What’s your daughter been flyin’, then?”

“She pulled a branch off. Apparently it worked like the old one did.”

Dosey turned her head to stare at him with one eye. “Then...what’re you still doing here? With a broom-tree in your bloomin’ backyard? You should be flying, too!”

“This is my home, now. I have to stay here, in case Rain or someone comes back, otherwise there’s no home to come back to.”

“Birds carry our homes with us, duckie,” said Dosey. “You mark my words, you start flying again, you won’t have that corpse-face no more, no sir.”

“This tree’s magic comes from the Grimmerie. I want no part of it. All it’s ever done is ruin my life.”

“Seems to me you’re doin’ a fine job of that all by yourself. Come on, Molly. Seems like I was wrong about him.”

“What do you mean by —” Liir started, but the Wrens were gone in a flash.

Liir went over the conversation in his head many times over the next few days, trying to convince himself of how wrong the Wren was. Meddling old biddy, anyway. She didn’t know the harm the Grimmerie had done, and still could do. Still, though. The tree looked more inviting and less menacing every day. The turning point was when his broom broke. It was just an ordinary tree branch with reeds tied on the end, not one from the broom-tree. He'd been doing something a bit stupid — one of the chickens had managed to fly up to the top of the roof, and he'd taken a ladder to try and coax it down, but it had kept moving away. He took the broom to try to push it off its perch, but he overreached and fell down with the ladder. The broom broke his fall, leaving him only bruised, but it snapped in half in the process. The chicken, insolent, flew down of its own accord. Giving the chicken a stern look, Liir threw the broom pieces into the woodpile, and marched over to the broom-tree. Once he arrived, he felt some trepidation. Surely there could be no harm in using one as a simple broom, he told himself. The tree had bloomed into something resembling a conifer, with long, straight branches that had thick tufts of green needles on the ends. Any one of them would probably make a more effective broom than the one being replaced. He reached up for one about the same length as the old one, and tugged at it, but when it didn't immediately come free, he reconsidered. The old one had always been a bit too short for him, and his back got sore from hunching over while sweeping the dust out of the house. Maybe one of the lower branches would fit him better. He'd probably need to get the ax from its place by the woodpile, but he selected a pleasant-looking branch and felt its heft. It was maybe a bit thicker around than was ideal, but it was lighter than it looked, and the bark had gaps that made for a good grip, with the surface smooth and comfortable in his calloused hands. As he tested it, he was surprised when it fell right off the tree, like an overripe fruit. Curious, he pulled at its neighbor lightly, but it was firmly attached. Well, of course the tree would have a mind of its own. Feeling a bit foolish, he muttered some thanks to it and took the freshly plucked broom back to the house.

He tested it out right away. It was a good height, and the grip was comfortable, but the needles bent a bit too easily, he found. It could sweep dust off the floor, but it had trouble with larger particles of sand and dirt, and was useless in corners. He realized what was missing: some cord around the middle of the needles to give them more solidity. The old broom had had some, so he took a knife and went out to the woodpile. He sat on the splitting block and cut the cord off the old broom-brush and tied it onto the new one. He didn't really need the cord that had served to keep the straw on the old broom, as the needles were firmly attached, but he transferred it anyway. It made the new broom look a little more dignified, he thought. He'd also noticed the end of the broom had splintered when it had fallen off the tree, so he whittled that down until it was smooth. He looked over his handiwork, thinking it finally looked like a real broom.

The broom came to life at that moment, and jerked straight up into the air, as if trying to get away from Oz as quickly as possible. Not even thinking, Liir held on, and though it caused sparks of pain in his shoulders, before he knew it he was well above his house, dangling from the skyrocketing broom. Once he got his breath back, he cursed himself for breaking his rule concerning all things Grimmerie, then weighed his options. As the broom showed no signs of slowing, and their distance from the ground grew, he decided to let go before it was too late. He tried to throw himself in the direction of his house, hoping the shingled roof would break his fall, but as it rapidly grew closer, it started looking alarmingly solid. He did hit something quite hard, but it wasn't the roof. The broom somehow appeared in his path, and though it ended up leaving a nasty bruise from his neck to his groin, he curled around it and held on tight. It had more give, at least, than the roof, and they quickly slowed to land gently on the shingles. Liir laid there for a few minutes, cradling the broom, panting hard and aching. The broom quivered in his embrace, but didn't take off again. When he finally mustered the energy to get up, he even trusted it enough to straddle it and jump to the ground. He didn't expect much, but the broom got the message, and they glided down to a soft landing. Shaken, he propped it up in a corner, and didn't touch it again for three days.

He looked at it every time he passed, though, and he knew he had to decide what to do with it. The broom didn't move on its own again, but he could sense its energy, calling him. He also had some new information: the broom was to some extent alive. He'd suspected this of Elphaba's broom, but now it was confirmed. It seemed to want to fly, and moreover, it was self-possessed enough to save him if he should fall. He still remembered when dragons had attacked him in the air and stolen the broom, and he'd fallen, nearly to his death. Between that and the risk of being seen and reported to Emerald City, he'd developed a positive fear of flying, but knowing that the broom could act as a safety net made it seem less risky. But what good would come of flying, really? Unless he cared to venture to Ev or another neighboring country, there really wasn't anywhere the broom could take him that he couldn't walk. It just made travel faster and easier. Much, much faster — he remembered that fateful time that Elphaba had flown from Kiamo Ko to Munchkinland and back in a matter of days. That trek took weeks on foot, months when one considered the difficulties of stopping for rest and food. At the very least, he could get his treatise edited, hand it over to the Lion, and be done with that. With everyone gone, there was nothing keeping him from leaving Nether How except the goat, and inertia. The chickens could take care of themselves.


	2. The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mirror in this chapter was inspired partly by Return to Oz, and partly by the Magic Picture from the original Oz books. And of course, countless visions and dreams from the Wicked Years.

Within a week, leaving had gone from only a musing to an actual plan. Liir made a list of errands for himself — stop by the Chancel of the Ladyfish and leave a note for Rain (he left a note on his desk, too, weighed down by a colorful stone to catch her attention), go to the Emerald City or some closer town and buy some more paper and ink, find someone to help him revise his manuscript, and talk to the Lion, if he was available. He scratched a makeshift map of Oz in the dirt to plot his destinations, then went inside and wrote “Buy map” on his list. He had a bit of money left, kept in a pouch hidden under a floorboard, but it wouldn't last long. Where it had come from originally, he wasn't sure. It had been a long time since anyone had paid him anything. Well, if necessary, he could always take on an odd job here and there. Delivering packages, if nothing else. He walked the goat to the nearest farm — a whole day's trek by foot — and promised the surprised woman he found tending the land a few coins if she would take care of it indefinitely. In the meantime, he told her, she was welcome to its milk. She would be welcome to its meat, too, if it grew sickly, but he didn't tell her that, so as not to give her ideas. A goat being a boon to the poor farming family, she accepted readily, and even offered him some dinner. He accepted, the meager food being better than anything he'd made for himself in a year, but refused the offer to stay the night in their stable, and sped off on his broom as soon as he was out of sight. The broom, delighted to be of use, made a quick victory lap around the house just over the ground, and Liir almost giggled at it. Despite himself, he was excited and a little giddy for his upcoming journey. He'd forgotten that flying could be fun.

Liir left the next morning, as soon as the day started to warm. He'd torn off a strip from a blanket and wrapped it around the broomstick to make a sort of saddle, as the previous day's flight had reminded him how uncomfortable sitting on a stick could be. He dressed as warmly as he could, though the wind still bit. Elphaba's cloak had always done a better job than anything else he could find — waterproof, too. Wherever had she gotten it, anyway, he wondered as he flew, shivering, towards his former home at the Chancel of the Ladyfish. He'd have to look into it at some point. He did find that if he flew lower, the air stayed a bit warmer, though he had to be more careful about trees. The broom handled beautifully, which was a welcome revelation. It practically anticipated his moves, and sometimes, he was sure, made changes he hadn't even thought of to avoid an oncoming tree or windmill. He wondered what people might think if they saw him going by, but there wasn't much he could do about that. He reached the Chancel in the late afternoon — slower than he'd expected, but then he suspected that his new broom could go quite a bit faster if he wanted it to. Faster also meant colder, so he didn’t mind. He called out to see if anyone had made this place their home in his absence, but there was no response. He stretched, cramped after sitting on the broom for hours, then made his way to the alcove where the rock Rain had liked sat. To his surprise, there was a note, but it wasn't addressed to him. It was to Rain, from Candle. She informed the reader that she was on her way to Qhoyre in the south, to see if she could find some remnant of her family. Or perhaps at least some connection to her fellow Quadlings, Liir thought. The note was short and to the point, and notably didn't mention Liir at all. The paper was hard and fragile; it must have been there for months. He wondered if she would still be in Qhoyre, or if she would have moved on by now. If she were still traveling by broomstick, it wouldn't be hard for her to come back and update the note, he supposed. Wait, was she? She'd ridden Elphaba's broom, but then they'd planted it, and she'd left before it had grown into a tree. So unless she'd come back in the middle of some night and stolen one, she wouldn't be traveling by air. He wrote a short message to her at the bottom of his note to Rain advising that there were brooms free for the taking at Nether How, and placed it under the rock along with Candle's note. There. He had no idea if she'd even want to fly again, but he'd made the effort. He didn't think finding her in person would be a good idea, though. With her knowledge of the present, she could find him if she ever wanted to, but he accepted that she very well might not.

He spent the night there, scrounging up some food from what was left of their old garden, now overrun and barely recognizable, and sleeping on one of the musty beds deep inside the Chancel's deceptively broken shell. In the morning, he left for the Emerald City. He had a bit of luck on the way, finding a caravan stuck on the side of a road with a broken axle. It was returning from the Sleeve of Ghastille, laden to the brim with poppy bulbs. He agreed to deliver the news and request for help to the merchant expecting it, feeling cutthroat as he demanded a written promise for payment from the driver. Still, Liir could travel far faster than anyone on foot, and as the driver couldn't leave her harvest unattended, she had little choice but to agree. He had to argue with the merchant as well upon delivery, and ended up getting half of what was promised, which was still more than he'd expected to have that morning. With some coin in his purse, he’d be able to afford room and board for a few nights at a small but comfortable inn on the outskirts of the city.

The next day, he completed his shopping list fairly easily, though his haggling skills had resulted in his paying more than he could have. The map he purchased was, he noticed, not especially comprehensive, with most of the Vinkus and Quadling Country containing only mountains and swamp, respectively, but at least the major Gillikin and Munchkin cities were there in the correct orientation. Finding a person to look over his treatise was more difficult — he tried a few printers' shops, but they weren't able to promise more than checking his spelling and punctuation. He thought the Lion might have some more scholarly contacts, so decided to pay Sir Brrr a visit. This proved futile; the Throne Minister wasn't seeing anybody today, nohow, he was told. Pressing further, he was told that Lion wasn't even in the Emerald City, though where he was, Liir wasn't fit to be told. He thought about flying up and checking in the windows, but that could be seen as criminal, he decided. The secretary finally offered to deliver a message upon the Lion's return, but Liir declined once he realized he wasn't sure what to say. To ask him for editor suggestions? That Rain was gone? Out of Oz? That she'd been waiting for some kind of message from Ozma for over a year, but now was beyond contact? Part of Liir's staying at Nether How had been to serve as a base for receiving messages that never came, which seemed pointless now that he thought of it. Liir didn't know Ozma well enough to inquire as to her availability, which was likely even more exclusive than the Throne Minister's.

He returned to his room at the inn, disappointed. His initial thrill of freedom at riding the broom was giving way to disappointment and thoughts of failure. How long would he have to wait for the Lion to return? Would Brrr even want to see him if he did? Maybe he should write off this whole venture as a mistake. He could return to Nether How to get through the winter — or not. But no, there was still work to be done, and he’d come this far, at least. He could start tracking down editors on his own. Surely the publishers of the news pamphlets being sold on every street had editors — then again, after reading some, maybe they didn't. The quality varied dramatically, but he’d gotten the gist of current Ozian events, at least. Slow rebuilding after the long war; skirmishes with the Glikkuns; a poor harvest because of wogglebug infestations in Munchkinland. At least peace between the Munchkins and the Emerald City had held, though they were still refusing formal integration with Oz. No mentions of dragons, not that he really expected any. Last time he'd been in the Emerald City, he couldn't go a block without tripping over some acquaintance or other. Now it seemed everyone had scattered to the winds. He thought of Little Daffy and her husband, with their opiate biscuit business, but he only knew them tangentially, and anyway didn't know where to find them now. The Emerald City was an expensive place — if he stayed, he'd have to find work. That meant settling down in some fashion, and the idea of living in the midst of all this squalor and excess was repugnant. All of Oz was open to him, yet he didn't know where to start. He still had that pocket behind his heart, tugging east, but that was too painful to risk. Better to keep it safe, and buried. He'd lost any capacity he'd once had for talking easily to strangers, but as he lay down for the night, he wished someone would just tell him what he should do.

He woke up in the middle hours of the night to relieve himself, and as he did so, he noticed some light coming into the room, shining on the desk where he'd placed his belongings. But it wasn't a window over the desk, it was a mirror. He sat at the desk and looked into it. He saw that his reflection was once again that of a pubescent boy, with a bad haircut and only just starting to grow out of his baby fat. So, this was a dream, then. That also explained why he could look through his reflection and see the young woman on the other side. She had a sweet face, her blond hair was cut in a fashionably short bob, and she wore a nightgown.

“Liir?” she said, frowning.

He croaked something, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Dorothy?”

“What are you doing in my mirror?” she demanded. “I'd better not be in Oz again, I just left!”

“I haven’t heard of any natural disasters here, so I doubt it.”

“I'm still in San Francisco, I hope,” she said, tapping the wall as if to verify its solidity. “Maybe I'm just dreaming. I knew I shouldn't have eaten so late.”

Liir decided to stop questioning the situation. “I have a talent for sometimes recalling the past. You're in my past, so maybe I'm just recalling you.”

“Well, you look just like I remember, but how can that be? You grew up, didn't you?”

Liir's half-reflection wavered, then changed to the gaunt, middle-aged man he'd been before going to bed, then back. Disliking the apparent age difference between himself and Dorothy, he tried to imagine himself as a young adult around her age, and the reflection changed again to match. “Neat trick,” Dorothy said.

“Don’t ask me how it works. It's funny that you should appear, though; I hardly saw you during your last visit.”

“I was avoiding you,” she admitted. “It was just so strange, that I'd known you when we were children, and then you were suddenly twice my age. I think I had a crush on you way back then, you know.”

“Really?” said Liir. “I used to think I did, too. But I’ve realized that it wasn’t really romantic — I just wanted a friend my own age, and I was at about the age that I knew I was supposed to treat girls differently, but I had no idea how.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I guess,” she said. “It’s nice to talk to you like this, though.”

“It is, yes. What are you doing now in Sanfran…?”

“Cisco,” Dorothy finished for him. “I sing. On the street, sometimes in bars and lounges and places. I thought, if I can do it in Oz, why not here? I know songs people have actually heard before, here, so it’s even better. I’m staying with a friend for now, but I’m hoping to make enough money to support myself eventually.”

“Rain told me once that you wanted to travel.” 

“I still intend to, but I want to have some money saved up first. I'm hoping to get enough to take my uncle and visit Australia. We have some family there, and I think a vacation would do wonders for his health. His last one wasn't exactly relaxing. I haven't figured out all the details, but don't worry, I'll get it done somehow.”

“You were always so confident. I admired that.” Liir felt less inhibited with his words in his half-dream state.

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “I seem to get myself into trouble everywhere.”

“You make friends everywhere, too. At least you’re not sitting around, worrying about might-have-beens.”

“Is that what you do?”

“All too often. Maybe that’s why I conjured you up. I need some guidance.”

“That figures. Oz calls on me to solve all its problems. When will it help with mine?”

“You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m not mad at you. It’s just that I’ve never visited Oz on my terms. I can stay, talking is easy. What’s your problem?”

He told her about the situation with Rain and the Lion, but when he started talking about editors, he noticed that Dorothy was rolling her eyes. “What?”

“Hm?” Dorothy said. “Oh, sorry. It’s just...is that it?”

“Um, yes? I don’t know where to go next, that’s the problem.”

“Can I be honest?”

Liir thought about that. “I don’t think anyone could stop you.”

“Your problems are...what’s the word...trivial? Wait for the Lion, or don’t. What does it matter? You certainly don’t need the opinion of someone who doesn’t even live there. How should I know better than you?”

“I thought maybe a fresh perspective…” he muttered.

“You must have something else going on to have called me like this, across worlds. Putting aside Rain’s problems, which by the way, aren’t really your business, and petty things like finding editors, what else? Let’s say you finish your treaty or whatever, and deliver it, then what? Are you going to stick around and make sure it happens?”

“Well, no. I don’t really have any power to do that. Nor do I want it.”

“What do you want, then?” she asked. 

“I want to live in a world free from tyranny. The Lion is doing all right, for now, but he won’t be in charge forever. And while I’d like to think well of Ozma, I don’t really know her, and even if she proves to be a responsible ruler, what then of her successor?”

“As far as I can tell, you’re already living free from tyranny. So fine, write some books, maybe change some minds. What then? I don’t think you can save the world, or even just Oz, in one lifetime. Not by yourself, at any rate. What else?”

“What do you mean, what else?”

“There’s more to life than politics!” she exclaimed. “What about your family? Friends? What about having a gay time? You know — the little things that make life worth living!”

“How can I worry about those when there are bigger problems?”

“How could you possibly deal with bigger problems if you don’t?” she retorted.

“My family’s gone, and good for them! My friends, if I ever had any, don’t want anything to do with me. So if I’m not making some impact on the world, what does it matter what else I do?”

“Surely someone cares about you!”

“No! No one does. Nor, Rain, Candle, Trism...everyone leaves, and I can’t go after them. I’m just alone.” The last word came out in a gulp as he tried to hold back his tears. “I thought I was fine without anyone. That’s how I grew up, and I thought it was natural for me go back to it, but I can’t — I can’t do that anymore. What kind of life have I had if no one cares if I’m alive or dead?” His head fell in his hands.

Dorothy was quiet for a while, then said, “Well, I care about you. That’s something.”

“For all I know, I’ll never see you again, either. You’re gone, and gone is gone. You’re not even here now.”

Dorothy tried to reach out and touch him on the shoulder — he seemed so close — but her hand was stopped by the glass. “Nor was that woman who died at Kiamo Ko, wasn’t she? I was there, though I didn’t really know her. Everyone there was devastated.”

“She was my sister. And I’d just got her back. I should have known it wouldn’t last.”

“But I’m sure Rain and Candle — that’s your wife, isn’t it? — still care about you. Family doesn’t have to be close to care. I’m always getting letters from my aunt and uncle. They can’t afford to travel out here, but they think about me.”

“Candle and I are done. Whatever she’s thinking of me probably isn’t good, and I can’t say I don’t deserve it. And Rain hardly thought of me when we lived in the same house.”

“Who’s the blond man?”

“What?” he looked up at her.

“The one who appeared before. I didn’t catch his name.”

“Appeared how?”

“In the mirror. It shows pictures when you say people’s names — didn’t you notice?”

“No.”

“Was that your brother?”

“Brother-in-arms, maybe. You must be the only one who hasn’t heard that story. Trism bon Cavalish was the Emperor’s lead dragonmaster, back before Rain was born. The dragons were murdering people, and he couldn’t get out of it, so I helped him turn against the Emperor and kill the dragons. Then we went on the run. Then...we became lovers.”

“Oh! Well, this story just got interesting. What happened then?”

Liir caught her up on their history, up until their reunion after he was captured by Mombey.

“Golly,” said Dorothy. “And he still loved you after all that time?”

“He said he did. But when I refused to help Mombey, he left me to die at her hand. That’s what broke my heart.”

“That’s really sad. But what do you mean, he left you to die? You’re still alive.”

“Mombi threatened to kill me, and he just stood by. She could have, too — I saw her kill someone else who failed her. It wasn’t an empty threat. I suppose she decided I was more valuable alive, or maybe she just didn’t get around to it. She invaded the Emerald City just after that. It turned out she didn’t need me at all to win the war.”

Dorothy fiddled with a pendant she’d been wearing under her nightgown. “I hate to think love could just die like that. Why else would we sing so many songs about it?”

“My life’s not a song. Unless you know of any songs that are long and pointless, with choruses of awkward silence.”

“Maybe that’s why we have songs in the first place. To fill the silence, and let us hope for a better future.”

“I’m not much of a singer,” Liir said. “And anyway, that sounds a little too much like religion to me. Why care if life is horrible now? It’ll be better at an unspecified time in the future.”

“That’s usually true, though. There’s ups and downs, always, so if you’re down now, chances are it’ll go up again.”

“I feel like I’m in an endless flatland, then.”

“I was raised in one, literally, so I can promise you that you’ll come to the mountains if you go far enough.”

“Or in the case of Oz, a deadly desert.”

“Oh, humbug,” said Dorothy. “You’re a stick in the mud, you know that? Look, if it bothers you so much, then go find this Trism character and make him tell you why he did what he did.”

“He hasn’t even tried to contact me. I can’t just drop in.”

“You can so. When Rain thought the Emperor might have captured you, we walked right up to his throne and demanded answers. It’s even easier for you: you can take your broom.”

“I don’t even know where he is now.”

“Now you’re just making excuses. Go find him. You know where he was — start there, and ask around. If you don’t, you’ll never know, and you’ll worry about it your whole life, I’ll bet. Now, shoo! I’ve got to rest my throat for tomorrow, or I’ll be all croaky.”

“I’ll...try.”

“And don’t think you can just ignore me, either! I shall expect a full report later. If you don’t, I’ll hitch a tornado and set Toto on you, just see if I don’t.”

“How am I supposed to ‘report’ to you? I don’t even know how this happened.”

“You managed it once. Find a mirror and do it again. And get me some news of my other friends in Oz, too. The Lion, Little Daffy and Mister Boss, Scarecrow and Tin Woodman if you can, and so on. Rain, too, of course, if you hear anything.” This time, Liir noticed that pictures of her memories of them appeared around the edges of the mirror as she spoke.

“I’ll do my best. But it won’t be overnight, you know.”

“Time goes more slowly here, so that’s fine. A few months for me ought to be a year for you. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I shall become cross.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it.”

“And don’t be so hard on yourself, okay? It’s hard to see past your own little bubble of problems sometimes. If you make a mistake, just try to do better the next time.”

“Thanks, Dorothy. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Good night, then. It was nice to talk to you, Liir. Be good.” She turned off her lamp, and the mirror went dark.

The next day, Liir checked out of the inn. He spent most of his leftover money on a pair of leather gloves, much warmer than his wool ones, then tracked down Little Daffy’s shop from a sign advertising her Munchkinlander Munchies. Mister Boss was out retrieving the broken caravan of poppies, coincidentally, and Daffy herself was overbusy, but she was glad to see him, giving him a big if awkwardly low hug. He refused her initial offer of biscuits, since he didn’t think flying after eating one would be very safe, but she insisted on sending him along with a small bundle of poppy-free treats, as well as some posters for him to put up in Munchkinland ‘to drum up interest’. It was already later than he'd been planning to leave by then, so instead of walking to city limits, he simply swung a leg over the broom and took off from the street. A few bystanders stared, he noticed, but at least no one said anything. His heart beating fast, he started out east.


	3. Munchkinland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bulk of the story is in this chapter, which is about twice as long as any other. The rest of the story is just dénouement, though it's pretty fun dénouement if I say so myself. I didn't originally write it in chapters, but other sites thought it was too long, so I just put in breaks where they seemed to fit.

With the necessary stops to take care of bodily needs, it was well after dark when Liir landed in Nest Hardings, not far from the site of his earlier imprisonment. He had some trepidation about flying at night, so he found a streetlamp in some square and then eased himself straight down. It felt like it was going to be a cold night, but he hadn't enough money left for an inn. Well, he'd made do with worse situations — at least in this decently sized town, there were options. He asked a few passersby, as politely as he could, if they knew of a cheap place to stay the night, and eventually an old woman told him that there was a public stable nearby, and the girl who worked there most nights sometimes let travelers sleep by their horses. As she seemed to expect it, he offered the woman a coin as thanks, regretting the probable loss of breakfast. He found the stable easily enough, and finding it unbarred, pushed open the door. The stable was warm and spacious, and less than half full. Mostly horses, but there were some goats as well, and a large hog. None of them seemed to him like Animals, though. One human was working in the stall nearest the far door.

“Hello there,” called a familiar voice. “I'll be with you in just a minute. We still have a lot of stalls open. Is it for one night, or longer?” He was rubbing down a large draft horse, his back still turned to the newcomer. Liir lightly panicked, and was contemplating dashing right back out the stable door, but just then Trism turned around. His eyes very nearly popped out of his head, and his face immediately flushed. Liir almost laughed — the former Menacier was usually so composed. It helped alleviate Liir’s own stress, at least. “What are you doing here?” Trism finally managed.

“I was just looking for a place to sleep,” Liir replied. At Trism’s crestfallen expression, he continued. “I came here to find you, actually. I just didn't expect to succeed so quickly. I would've found a better time if I'd known — I'll just go find somewhere else.” It seemed the respectful thing to do. He slowly reached for the door, hoping Trism would stop him, which he did.

“Wait! Don't leave,” Trism said, trying to exit the stall and managing to trip over a water bucket, which he then tried to save. Liir noticed his sweat-stained, rough work clothes, but despite them, he looked good. Subjectively and objectively: his face was more weathered than it was two decades before, but he still had that same golden hair, those long lashes, and those full, obscenely pink lips...Liir wasn't sure how he could still be unattached. “Stay here. You can sleep in the house. My bed, if you want.”

Liir sighed. All this time, and Trism was willing to pick up right where they'd left off. And he'd feared hatred, or worse, indifference. “I'd like nothing more. Truly. But no. We need to have words, you and I, before we can do that.”

“I meant I could sleep in another room,” Trism said, though Liir doubted the truth of it. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Everything. But not tonight. I haven't thought it all through yet. Like I said, I wasn't expecting to find you yet.”

“I didn't make myself hard to find. Unlike some.”

“I see that,” said Liir. “So you work here now? What happened to the dragons?”

“I thought we weren't talking tonight.” Trism scowled at him.

“Small talk is okay, if you don't mind. And you can keep working — that horse looks annoyed.”

Trism grudgingly picked up his dropped towel and walked back to the draft horse, glancing back periodically as if unwilling to let Liir out of his sight. Liir shared the feeling, but turned away, finding a stool to perch on.

“The dragons are gone,” Trism said. “I released them back to the desert, and good riddance for them and us. The owner of this stable had died in the war, so I was able to buy it for a reasonable amount. I did have to borrow some, but it’s nearly paid off. It seemed like a good fit — you know I have a way with animals.”

“I remember that. I remember you had a way with humans, too.”

“Ha! Hardly. I'm afraid your recollection is biased.”

“Must be.”

“So what are you up to these days?” Trism asked.

“Not much. I was tending a house out west. I had a wife, daughter, and a Goose, but one by one they all left. I realized I really had little reason to stay.”

“I'm sorry, I suppose? I'd ask more, but it might be more than small talk. Daughters generally do leave home, though, in most circles.”

“Most don't ride a broomstick over the desert, though,” Liir said. “I hope she's safe. Iskinaary — that's the Goose — is watching over her, so that's something.”

“So your daughter is witchy too, then? It really does run in the family.”

“Far more so than I, in fact. She's green, too. After a lifetime of hiding, it finally came out.”

“Funny, considering the only thing green about you is your eyes. Must have skipped a generation,” Trism said.

“Who knows, when it comes to magic? Maybe it only appears in girls.”

“One doesn't usually think of men as witches, no,” Trism agreed. Having finished his grooming, he wrapped a blanket around his charge, then started cleaning and putting away various tools. “Then again, until your mother, no one thought of witches as green, either. Nessarose wasn't.”

“Enough about my illustrious family. How's yours? Did they get through the war unharmed?”

“Yes, though somewhat poorer, I think. I don't really know much — they seem to be too busy pretending I died for the EC.”

“Oh…” said Liir. “Ouch.”

“I was all right with that during the war — I didn't want my betrayal of Loyal Oz to come back to hurt them — but now it's just insulting. As if I'm an embarrassment. Last I heard, my brother was getting married, so I imagine their dynastic aspirations lie with him now.”

“Didn't you say your brother was…uh, simple?”

“Yes, I did. Nice enough, but he'll never be able to support a family. Either he found an infinitely kind woman, or a social climber interested in our name. For whatever that's worth now. But again, I don't really know; they won't answer my letters.”

“And here I thought I'd been a bad parent.”

“If you're at least on speaking terms with your daughter, you're already doing better than mine.”

“Anyone else in your life?,” Liir asked, trying to act uninvested in the answer. “I imagine you haven't taken a vow of chastity, and I'm guessing you get plenty of offers.”

Trism snorted. “Offers, yes, good ones, no. I'm not seeing anyone right now. I've had a few...liaisons here and there, but I've yet to find anything long-term. It's not easy when you're on the run from a whole country.”

“On the run? How so?”

“Before the war’s end, I mean. Though even now, if I were to return to Loyal Oz, and my neighbors found out about my role in the attack on the EC, I’d probably get lynched. Or, even more likely, get caught by authorities, put on trial, and then disappear, never to be seen alive again.”

“I think you underestimate the Lion’s administration,” Liir said. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m not taking the risk. It happened to Lady Glinda, and she was far more beloved than I.”

“Glinda? What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you hear? It was in too many news publications to be just a rumor. Vanished from Southstairs last year. The Lion denies everything.”

“I know him — he admires Glinda. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been involved.”

“Well, even if not, something happened, and probably nothing good.”

“If I can manage to get an appointment with him, I’ll ask him. Glinda...helped me when I needed it most. I wanted to imagine the best for her.”

Liir sat silently until Trism finished up his work, boarded the outside doors, and showed Liir through to the attached house. It was cozy and nicely furnished, if not expensively so. There was a small kitchen near the stable door, then a living room with some couches and, Liir noted with interest, a number of full bookshelves. A narrow spiral staircase led up to the bedroom, Trism told him, and there was an outhouse in the yard outside.

“Are you sure you don't want the bed?” Trism asked, the implicit invitation obvious in his tone. Oh, but that was tempting. Liir refused again. Putting off pleasures was a skill turned habit for him. Trism found him a blanket and pillow, then busied himself in the kitchen. “Torrie — she's a stablehand I hired — sometimes stays down here. It's easier for her if she works a morning shift. But I gave her the night off tonight; good thing, too. You'd have had to stay in the stable.”

“I wouldn't have minded. I've slept in worse places.”

“It's less itchy in here — smells better, too.” He brought over a plate with bread, cheese, a pear, and some milk. “Eat up,” he said. “You look half-starved. If you were a horse, I’d report your master to the authorities.”

“It got harder to eat well after Candle left. We'd split up the household duties. Thank you, though.”

“I'm going to get myself ready for bed. But if you're going to stay here, can you promise me something?” Liir had just taken a bite of some bread, but looked up inquiringly. “Please, don't leave without saying goodbye.” Trism's face suddenly looked sad, and Liir’s heart lurched.

He swallowed. “Don't worry, I won't. Look: the broom’s over in that corner, and I won't touch it until we've had things out. You can take it upstairs if you want.”

“I'm not forcing you, I'm just asking you.”

“I know. I just mean, I don't plan to leave town just yet. I might use the outhouse or get breakfast in the morning, though.”

“Don't worry about breakfast. Jahl — that's my other stablehand — is coming in mid-morning. I'll take the rest of the day off, we can have a late breakfast in town. I know some good places.”

“I'll look forward to it.”

Exhausted from his travels, Liir passed out almost as soon as he lay down on the couch. He didn’t notice the blanket being pulled over him shortly after.

 

Trism woke up before dawn to take care of the morning chores. Liir was fast asleep in the living room, and didn't stir at the sound of footsteps. Trism watched him for a while. Liir's face looked older than he'd expected. Some of that was because he hadn't seen him, at least not as a human, in two decades, but he was also quite underweight, which gave his face a hollow appearance. Poor thing. At least he didn't seem infirm. He must have been surviving on a bare minimum of nutrition. At least his glossy black hair hadn't thinned. In fact, it was longer and thicker than before, going down to his shoulders and spreading wide like a lion's mane. He was still recognizably himself, most of all. Trism felt the urge to kiss him awake, but the time for that had long since passed. Their last encounter had felt like an ending, and he wouldn't have been surprised if Liir never sought him out after that. To have him suddenly here, in his house was more than he could have hoped for. If he played his cards right, and was careful enough not to scare him away, this time could be the charm. There was no war, no Emperor, no witch, no dragons to divide them any longer. The only things between them now were themselves. “Maybe this time,” he thought, “he'll stay.”

 

Liir awoke later to some noise from the stable. It sounded like the hog was being taken away to market, and it seemed displeased about that. Liir used the outhouse, then washed up in the kitchen sink, where Trism had helpfully left a bucket of clean water. He also washed up some dishes, then retreated to the living room. He felt a bit uncomfortable, and he realized that he hadn't been in another's house in years. Inns and other transient places, yes, but the last home besides his own that he'd visited had been Kiamo Ko — which according to the flying monkeys, also technically belonged to him. That was hardly a place of comfort or security anymore, though. Aside from what Trism had presented him, he wasn't sure what was safe to touch and what was meant only for display. Had Trism bought this furniture, these books, or had they come from the previous owners? Many of the books were on animal handling and physiology, but that wasn't definitive. Elsewhere, an illustrated book of Lurlinist fairy tales, and a series of novels whose titles promised whimsical adventures. Was this any insight on their owner? Who, really, was his one-time lover? Would finding out bring him joy, or sorrow?

 

His train of thought was interrupted by Trism coming through the stable door. “Good morning!” he said as he washed his hands. “Jahl’s here, and he's going to come in early the next few mornings, so I can take the next few days off. I'll change out of these clothes, and we'll go out.”

He came back downstairs wearing white pants and a vivid royal blue shirt, which complemented his golden hair nicely.

“Nice shirt,” said Liir.

“Thanks. Munchkin dyes — brightest in all Oz. We can get you some clothes later, if you like. I always thought you looked good in green.”

Liir's own clothes, after many washings, had faded to dull beiges and grays, with no hint of any color they might have once had. They also had numerous patches. Getting new clothes probably was a good idea, but Liir had no intention of abusing Trism's purse, especially not if he chose to leave for good. On the other hand, Trism might take more pride in Liir's appearance than he did. Though Trism wasn't one to shy away from hard work, Liir had the impression that he enjoyed his luxuries. It seemed unlikely that he would ever be happy living off the land in a place like Nether How, and Liir wasn't sure how he felt about that.

 

Trism took him to a little café several blocks away. Liir had to duck to get through the doorway, but most of the tables were large enough to seat them comfortably. A waiter only a little shorter than Ozian average gave them their menus. Liir was a bit dazzled by all the options, and let Trism order for him. He ended up getting a crepe with berry filling and lemon curd on top. He almost overdosed on sweetness, but it was delicious as long as he ate it slowly. Once they'd finished eating, they watched passers-by through the window and drank tea. Liir was surprised and self-conscious when Trism put his hand on his on top of the table, but permitted it. Lover or no, he had sorely missed human contact.

As if nothing had happened, Trism pointed out various people he knew in the area. A few of them caught his eye from and nodded hello, and if they noticed the linked hands, they didn't react to it. Liir decided to bring it up.

“It's nice that we can do this in public,” he said. “Most places, it would be frowned upon.”

“It is here too, generally. But I've stopped caring. I had one too many war widows getting flirty with me, so I decided to save them the trouble and let my preferences be known.”

“None of the war widows pretty enough?”

“Some were, objectively speaking. The problem is, I'm not at all interested in women,” Trism said.

“Really? Not ever?”

“I never have been, no, though I did try, once upon a time. But while I could fake it for a little while, I found I couldn't be happy with a woman. Or make her happy, for that matter. I'm not like you in that regard, liking both. It must be nice, not being limited.”

Liir thought he was being snide, but his face didn't match that, so Liir responded honestly. “That's not how it feels to me. My crushes have been few and far between. Then again, I haven’t been around other people terribly much.”

“Maybe you just need to get out more,” Trism said. “You were one of my first crushes, you know. I didn’t know what to do about it back then.”

“I wish I could say the same. I didn’t really think of you that way until...well, you know when. My actual first crush, I’m ashamed to think of.”

“Well, now I have to know about that.”

“You remember Commander Cherrystone?” Liir asked.

“How could I forget — wait, that was your crush? He was your commanding officer, right? And much older than you.”

“It was some strange combination of hero worship and wanting a father figure, but there was definitely some attraction on my part. He was this charming, dashingly handsome man in a snappy uniform. I guess I have a type.”

“He didn’t, uh, take advantage, I hope?”

“No, never. But I would have done anything for him. Until I found out who he was.”

“And who was he?”

“I’d say a snake, but that’s probably offensive to Serpents. I think he had no heart, only a desire for power and a will to use it.”

“He was the one who ordered the attack on the Quadlings,” Trism recalled.

“And I helped execute it. I set fire to the bridge, knowing there were people above. I didn’t realize how monstrous it was until I’d done it. I still have nightmares...I can’t believe I let him make me do it. I should have known — he was responsible for kidnapping my family at Kiamo Ko when I was a boy, and almost of all them were soon executed. Somehow I’d forgiven him that.”

Trism looked distant. “Have you considered that maybe he was just executing the Emperor’s orders?”

“The kidnappings, maybe, but not the attack on the bridge. I saw his plans; it was his idea. His status in the capital depended on his angering the Quadlings enough to get them to retaliate — I remember him being frustrated that taxing them alone wasn’t enough. The thing is, he didn’t even seem conflicted. He just ordered us — me — to murder some civilians, just like that. And then he nearly repeated that with the dragons at Restwater.”

Trism was silent for a few minutes. Liir didn’t blame him — it’d been at Cherrystone’s order, if not his hand, that he’d been tortured. After they finished the tea, he said, “I was thinking we could visit the baths next. Despite the fresh clothes, I probably smell of sweat and manure.”

“It doesn't bother me. I really don't have money to spare.”

Trism scowled at him. “Don't you concern yourself with money while you're here. It's not terribly expensive anyway; I usually go once a week. It might not bother you if I smell, but it does bother me. You'll like it.”

He was right about that. Liir's baths usually consisted of a small amount of rapidly cooling water in a metal tub that he had to curl up to fit into. The bathhouse at Nest Hardings was a limestone building with an unprepossessing exterior, but a lavishly decorated interior. A large copper boiler dominated in the center of the main bathing room, and pipes extended from it in all directions. The entire room, from the showers to the various communal pools that took up the majority of the floorspace, was flower-themed. The pools themselves were lined with ceramic petals the size of half Liir’s body length. The petal colors corresponded to different water temperatures, and some children in the cold water pool were using them as slides. There were no windows in the walls, for privacy’s sake, but skylights (also in the shape of flowers) provided plenty of light while keeping warmth in. Liir found the whole thing rather garish, and Trism admitted to feeling the same way, but told him it was typical in Munchkinland. However, Liir decided it was well worth it when, after the obligatory soaping up and showering, he was able to soak in the hottest pool, and found it positively luxurious. He was self-conscious at first about the public nudity, but no one else seemed bothered, so he tried not to worry about it. Trism stepped into the pool soon after he did. Noticing Liir’s appreciative eye, he showed off a bit, slowly lowering himself into the water, though he kept his scarred side turned away. Despite that, his large, solid body was undeniably beautiful. The wide chest, the powerful buttocks, the light dusting of golden hair — Liir could just imagine touching him, all over. He then had to close his eyes and think of other things to dispel his burgeoning arousal. He focused instead on the pleasures of feeling almost weightless in the hot water; it felt as if years of aches and pains were melting away. He caught himself nearly falling asleep a few times, until Trism finally nudged him and indicated that it was time to leave. He noticed Trism eyeing his body as he toweled himself off, but Trism’s expression seemed more disturbed than appreciative. As the entire point of his visit was to stop leaving things unsaid, he brought it up as they walked back home.

“It seemed like you don’t much like the look of my body now,” he remarked. “You know I’m never going to look as good as you, right?”

“Obviously,” said Trism. “Most people don’t — and don’t look surprised, it’s an objective fact. If I restricted myself to men who looked like me, dating would be even harder than it already is. Besides...I don’t find you unattractive. I’m sorry if you thought that. The shape of your mouth, your cheekbones, the color of your eyes...not to mention your hair. I’ve always liked your looks, for whatever that’s worth. But right now I can also see that you’re very underweight — unhealthily so, if you ask me. So it pains me to see that — it’s like seeing you hurt. It makes my knees ache. Someone really needs to take better care of you.”

Liir was touched, but his pride was also slightly wounded. “I can take care of myself,” he said reflexively.

“We all need help sometimes, in one way or another. I’ve found myself a decent network of friends here; they’ve helped me through some of the rougher times. I wasn’t doing well when I first came to Munchkinland.”

“Will I be meeting some of these friends?”

“The surviving ones, yes. In due time. Virtually all of them told me I needed to let go of my attachment to you, so I need to think about what to say to them.”

“It doesn’t help that it was probably good advice on their part.”

Trism barked out a laugh. “Very probably! And no offense, but I have tried. You’re more pernicious than that.”

“Sorry. Was it really that bad?”

“Yes. No. Mostly yes. The memories are nice, but the fear that I’d never experience them again has been...hard. I imagine it’s been the same for you, but you at least had Candle as an alternative.”

“You’re not wrong. Not that she was a silver medal or anything, but still. I’ve missed you.”

“So have I. More than I can say.”

They arrived at his home. Trism started the oven and put a kettle on for tea. “I think it’s time for that talk,” said Liir.

Trism seemed glum. “Must we really?”

“I told you I need to.”

“It’s been so easy, having you back with me. We could live like this, together. You could help out in the stable, and our lives would be better than they were apart. Can’t you see that?” he implored.

“I don’t understand why you want to avoid this conversation. Are you just trying to wine and dine me out of it? You must know I’m not going to just forget.”

“I’d hoped you’d come to the same conclusion I did — that the love we could share would be better for us than any disagreement about politics. Because I know what you’re going to ask, and I’m not sure I have a good answer. But why should that matter? What’s done is done, and we have to look forward.”

“I have to look back, first. It’s a gift, and a curse. Yes, I feel for you deeply. What I don’t know is why.”

“Why not accept our bond for what it is? Maybe it’s just hormonal, but that’s as much a part of your body as your brain. It still exists.”

“Because I don’t know that it’s real! Every major event in my life seems to have been fated, and I get no say in it. I don’t want to be fate’s pawn, ever again.”

“Well, that’s dramatic. If you want some control, then exercise some. No one’s stopping you.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but you don’t know everything that’s happened. I’ll tell you.”

So, while Trism prepared the tea, he explained the parts that he hadn’t known, from Rain’s conception, orchestrated by the old Mother Yackle, to Mombey’s accidental revelation of Ozma.

“That’s what happened? I didn’t know you were even there — the news didn’t mention anything about that. Just Ozma being discovered, and something about Elphaba returning.”

“That would be because Rain’s skin turned green, so people made that connection. She is definitely Elphaba’s heir, as far as magic goes. The Grimmerie wouldn’t reveal its secrets to Mombey until she was there.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Trism said. “Or us.”

“If you hadn’t helped to force the Emperor’s surrender, Mombey wouldn’t have been asked to restore me to human form. If I hadn’t been so heartbroken, I wouldn’t have resisted her so much that she even tried the Grimmerie.”

“So you’re saying that the Grimmerie wanted Ozma back on the throne.”

“Maybe,” said Liir. “Who can know? I do know that magical objects have some kind of mind — that broom over there isn’t any great power, but even it flew by itself to save me from a fall. Maybe the Grimmerie just wants someone who will use it, and since I can’t, it manipulated me into conceiving Rain and arranged for her to be in that room at just that time.”

“I don’t know that I believe any of that, but fine, whatever. It’s over now — Ozma’s on the throne, and Rain has the Grimmerie, and whatever she does with it, that’s her business. Why should it matter what we do from here on?”

“I don’t know that it, or whoever made it, is finished. And whether our relationship, our love, is magical or not, I need to be able to justify it logically. I need to know that you’re not going to decide, years from now, that we’re fundamentally incompatible and leave.”

“So, that’s what this is about,” Trism said quietly. “You don’t want us to end like you and Candle ended. I can promise you, I’d never do that.”

“You can’t know that. And if you didn’t, who knows, maybe I would have to. When you get down to it, we don’t know each other. Only a few days, here and there.”

“Plenty of people marry with less, and they make it work. I might not know you that well, but I think I have a good idea. Even if we did separate, years down the line, they would be good years. Enough to last me for life.” Trism’s eyes were wet. Liir took his hand.

“I think we can do better than that. If I didn’t think there was a chance I’d like what I heard, I wouldn’t have come. I can’t be happy, not after Candle, with that possibility hanging over my head. Please.”

Trism gave in. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

Liir thought for a moment, and decided to start with an easy one. “What happened between you and Candle at Apple Press Farm?”

Trism’s expression was blank. “Nothing.”

“That’s what she said, too, but clearly something happened. You were there long enough for the Scrow to infer that you were my husband.”

“Really? That’s kind of cute. I talked to them more than I talked to Candle. I couldn’t understand her at all, so I got them to translate what had happened with the dragons. I tried to communicate that she was in danger, but she didn’t trust me, and she refused to leave the farm. I didn’t know how much time I had, and anyway she was more in danger if she was found harboring me than if she were found alone, so I left. I couldn’t really trust her or the Scrow to hide me if the EC did come knocking.”

“So...that’s all? There was no connection between you and Candle?”

“Other than distrust, no,” Trism said. “Why would there have been?”

“She never talked about it. I think she may have actually been...jealous, maybe, so she wouldn’t give me details. It made me think that you’d had some kind of affair with her.”

“That’s rich. You think because you fell in love with me, that she must have, too?”

“Maybe just magical thinking. If you had, then if you came back, the three of us could live together, like a family. Hardly seems likely now.”

“I wouldn’t have minded sharing you,” Trism said. “It’s better than not having you at all. But I’m not attracted to women, so there really couldn’t be anything between me and her. I can’t speak for her feelings, of course, but it seemed more like hostility than attraction to me. I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“We had a knack for not talking about things that bothered us. I’m trying to break that habit.”

“My turn for a question,” Trism said. “Why didn’t you tell me that Candle was having your baby?”

“I told you about Rain’s strange conception. I wasn’t consulted, and Candle was ashamed, even if her actions did save my life. I felt something for Candle by then, certainly, but I wasn’t sure if she returned my affection, or if she’d leave the moment the child was born. I didn’t know what to tell you, and we didn’t have much time to chat at the time.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting, finding out. I’d thought you were mine alone.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Liir said.

“Yeah, I know. And I’m over it. But I can’t say it didn’t factor in my decision to leave, at the time.”

Liir steeled himself. It was time for a big question; the one that had given him the most pain. “Why did you leave me to die at Mombey’s hands?”

Trism looked at him in shock. “I would never! How can you say that?”

“That’s what it seemed like to me! She made her final demand for me to read the Grimmerie, and I refused. It was clear that she was willing to have me killed for it, and you did nothing. And she would have, but she won before she had the chance. Luckily for me, the Lion asked her to return me as a condition of the EC’s surrender.”

Trism looked sickened. “So that’s why you stayed away, after the war. I can see how it must have looked to you. I thought you’d have worked it out, though.”

“Worked what out?”

Trism stood, looked out the window. “Mombey was going to have you killed, of course. Shortly after we left you, she gave the order. Up until that moment, I didn’t know what I was going to say or do, but when she did, there was only one thing I could do. I told her if she did, there was no way I would help her command the dragons. If you wouldn’t help her, then she needed me. The war would have been lost otherwise. She backed off.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t have you punished for that.”

“I’ve spent some time thinking about it, and my guess is that she anticipated it. She knew something of our relationship, and she made sure she gave the execution order in front of me. You were useless to her, but now she knew she had leverage over me that she hadn’t had before.”

“I’m amazed you’d do that for me.”

Trism sighed. “These days, I think it was a moral failing on my part. She likely wouldn’t really have had you killed regardless. She wasn’t one to give up any potential advantage. But once she agreed to let you live, I was implicitly bound to serve her indefinitely. If I didn’t do what she asked, she could just threaten you. She would have used those dragons to terrorize Oz, just as the Emperor tried to do. You’re better than that; even when Mombey tried to threaten Rain’s life, you wouldn’t help her harm other people.”

“I can’t claim to be that noble. If Rain had been in the room, and Mombey had had direct control over whether she lived or died, I don’t think I would have been that strong. So I can’t fault you for that — especially since I was the beneficiary. Next question. The last time we saw each other before that meeting, you said you could only love me if I made my own choices, for my own reasons. What did you mean by that?”

“Wasn’t it obvious? I didn’t want you to use the Grimmerie. I trusted that you wouldn’t want to, and I didn’t want to persuade you otherwise. I couldn’t say it directly; Mombey and her subordinates were too close, and might have overheard.”

“I thought you were being deep,” Liir said.

“No; just covert. Loving you for making your own decisions — how else could I love you? It’s a tautology — it didn’t mean anything. I’m not that deep. Now, I have a question for you.”

“Ask away.”

“I can see now why you didn’t come back, after the war. What about before then? A generation passes, time enough for your daughter to grow into a woman, and not a single word from you! Were you just too comfortable with your precious Candle to even think of me?”

“Of course not. I missed you — nearly every day. I didn’t know if you were dead, or in prison, or if you’d just betrayed us to the EC at the first opportunity.”

“I’m disappointed that you considered that a possibility.”

“EC forces were specifically looking for us — we knew that you’d given them some kind of information, willingly or not. What was I supposed to think?”

“You could have found out! You’re the one with the broom — you could have gone anywhere in Oz, with a quick escape guaranteed from any enemy. I spent years hoping that someday, some speck in the sky would turn out to be you, finally returning to me. Maybe I broke your heart when you thought I’d let you die, but you’d broken my heart already, many times over.”

Liir was silent for a minute. “I’ve never been good at motivating myself. Mostly, I was afraid for my daughter. Persistently. With her green skin, she was such an easy target, and I knew the EC would want her for whatever power she had. I couldn’t even fly, for fear of being discovered and trailed. Flying may be freeing, but not when you’ve made the enemy of a government. I can’t stay in the air forever.”

“I wish you would have at least tried.”

“I’m sorry. For whatever that's worth now. I didn’t think about it from your point of view, or know you well enough to know what that was. I feared the worst, but didn’t even consider the best.”

“How is my heartbreak the best?”

“Because that means you loved me, and you were waiting for me. I thought you were most likely dead, or uncaring. I wish I'd gone back to Apple Press Farm sooner. Before you left. I should have gone there right away.”

“And I wish I'd stayed longer. But if I had, maybe more of us would have gotten caught, so who knows. I think I got off easy, considering,” Trism said, though he winced at the memory. “They seemed to think you'd cast a spell on me to ensure my loyalty, so they didn't hold me responsible for our crimes.”

“Ha! As if I could. If anyone could bewitch the other, it would be you. Whispering in the ear, and all.”

“I've never tried it on a human or Animal,” Trism said. “Even if I did, they'd have to let me.”

“It feels like magic — I have no control over my feelings when it comes to you.”

“Who does? Like I said, it's just hormones. You seem to be resisting them just fine now.”

Liir looked sheepish. “You said something about that, but I don't actually know what those are.”

“I keep forgetting you haven't had a formal education. Hormones are chemicals in the blood. They signal your body to do things. Like accelerating your heart rate when you're afraid, or get sleepy at night. I'd say they dictate a lot of our emotions. Including love.”

“That's a little scary. I didn't know our bodies had so much control over what we do. Like animals.”

“We are animals,” Trism insisted. “Or Animals, really. There's nothing to be afraid of; it just is. What kind of lives would we have, if we were nothing but our brains? Damn sad ones, if you ask me. Our brains are part of our bodies. They were meant to work together.”

“Maybe. But I need to ask my final question. Why did you agree to work for Mombey?”

Trism sat down and considered his response. Liir waited patiently. “I thought it would end the war sooner and reduce loss of life. Which it did.”

“I know it did, I was there. Through a bunch of contrivances you couldn't have known about. What I care about now is, what did you think would happen?”

“After our friend Cherrystone took Haugaard’s Keep, it became clear that there wouldn't be an easy end to the war. It'd been going on for years by then. I'd seen people dying of starvation in Loyal Oz, and of disease in Munchkinland because the medicine was made in Gillikin. On both sides, death and crippling injuries from battle. Since I was still able-bodied, it was only a matter of time before I'd get drafted myself.”

“So you volunteered to avoid that?” Liir asked.

“To tell the truth, partly. Going off to kill or maim as many as possible until such happened to me? Not what I'd call making a difference. I'd heard rumors that a clutch of dragon eggs had been found, so I sought out Mombey and convinced her of my skills. After she saw my scar, I had no trouble convincing her of my motives, at least.”

“So revenge motivated you.”

“Again...partly. The Emperor’s regime had quite convinced me that his victory would only make life worse for all Ozians. Mombey could only be better, I thought. Somehow, I thought a female ruler would be more compassionate, and I'd heard only good things about her at the time.”

“So you regret your choice.”

“I don't know that I could have made a better one,” Trism said. “Sometimes there is no good choice.”

“You could have just left. Stayed hidden.”

“Oh, like you did? And how is that better?” Trism spat. “If we're talking about moral decisions, there are a hundred things you could have done that would have been more helpful than that.”

“I told you -”

“Yes, yes, you were afraid for your daughter, I know. But how is that better than being afraid for yourself? You told Mombey that there was no substantial difference between your daughter and anyone else's.”

“I was being obstinate against her, of course. No good could have come from my attempting to read the Grimmerie, a fact I think we're agreed upon. And you're changing the subject, we're talking about your choices.”

“Hardly fair.”

“You can ask about it later if you want, but you're changing the subject now. Besides, you seem to have accepted my numerous flaws. I'm still deciding about you.”

Trism thought about it, then continued subduedly. “I thought about running away again. That, or getting drafted, would have been easier. I hated the dragons when I was in the Army, but a lot of that came from how cruel they were raised to be. They're not monsters — they're just predatory animals. Alien to us, and Oz. We exaggerated their worst tendencies, taught them to attack people. I thought I could do better here — teach them to only go after military targets. Give them some semblance of compassion. I thought, I really thought you'd be proud. I assumed you'd be leading some kind of resistance against the Emperor in Loyal Oz. How could I do less?”

“You must have realized eventually that Mombey was just as bad.”

“Just as bad? Hardly. She may have been power-hungry, but she did seem to care what her subjects thought about her. At least, so it seemed to me. Since the dragons were still young and untrained, I didn't see her much until towards the end of the war, when they were finally ready.”

“What about when she forcibly drafted the Animals?” Liir prodded.

“That was...disappointing, yes. But she seemed to be a capable leader, and I more or less trusted her decision. Though it did reinforce my belief that the war needed to end, one way or another.”

“Just not the way that ended with the Emperor in charge.”

“Preferably, yes,” Trism said. “He was virtually enslaving Oz into his religious delusions. Mombey, at least, made no claims of godly authority.”

“I don't know if you care, but the Emperor — Shell — really did believe in his own godliness. Apparently he was living in rags, on a bucket, for some ascetic reason. The Lion told me he ‘retired’ to a cave.”

“Creepy. That probably means his handlers were more responsible for his policies than he was. And I bet most of them are still around.”

“Figuring out how best to manipulate the Lion, and eventually Ozma, no doubt. That's depressing.”

“It never ends, does it?”

“Sorry, I got us off track. So then we come to the attack on the Emerald City.”

After a pause, Trism said, “Not my idea.”

“But you went along with it.”

“...yes.”

“Were you aware of the death and destruction that would occur? That did occur?”

“I was also aware of the death and destruction that was already occurring.”

“So you've said. But why not persuade Mombey to attack on one of the existing fronts, or the Keep? I think there is a difference between attacking an unsuspecting populace and attacking a military installation that at least would have some means of defending itself.”

“You overestimate how much influence I had. I wasn't ever consulted on how to execute the attack.”

“You could have refused. The attack wouldn't have succeeded without you.”

“I wasn't even informed of the plan until after a certain Black Elephant was carted in.”

“Probably not a coincidence. Mombey planned well, I'll give her that. But, had I not been there, would you have forced her to attack a different target?”

“We're going deep into hypotheticals now. That isn't what happened.”

“I want to know your thought process.”

Trism closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Probably not. Yes, there's a difference between attacking a city and attacking an army. But attacking the army wouldn't have forced them to stop. You don't have to tell me people died because of me. I know they did, and I wish they hadn't. I try not to think about it, because when I do, I can't think about anything else. It haunts me. So yes, I have regrets, but I also can't think of anything I could have done better, realistically. If I hadn't, all of Oz would still be under the Emperor's rule while he and his cronies dream up new ways to oppress us.”

“I disagree,” said Liir. “There are any number of ways it could have gone. I think the attack on the Emerald City, regardless of how it finally ended, was a mistake.”

“Well, you would, wouldn't you? You weren't there. You were never there! You'd rather hide, and let it be someone else's problem. I could have stayed uninvolved, and pretended like that makes it better, but all that would have done is put it in another's hands. Not making a choice is also a choice, with its own consequences. I've had just about enough of this interrogation, as if you're in any position to judge me. At least I tried! And if that doesn't sit well with you, you can show yourself out, because I don't know what else I can fucking do.”

 

With that, he stormed upstairs. Liir was taken aback; he'd thought the conversation had been going well. He had to admit to himself that he wasn't the best with social cues, and he'd stepped on a nerve as a result. At least he had the answers he'd wanted. He finished the tea, and cleaned up the dishes. He thought about going out for a walk, but knew Trism would hear the door. Liir couldn't have him thinking he'd really left, so he sat at the table and thought. His decision was made, but he needed to figure out how to put it tactfully, especially after that last exchange. After an hour, he realized that Trism probably wasn't going to come down anytime soon, so it must be up to him to reconcile. Fair enough.


	4. The Gillikin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much all the mature content is in this chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Liir climbed the narrow steps to the attic bedroom slowly, ready to back down if he was yelled at again. He found Trism lying on his bed, his back turned. He stirred at Liir's presence, but didn't say anything. “You're absolutely right, you know,” Liir said. “About me. I have almost nothing but regrets about my life. I inherited...power, I guess, from my parents, but I've always been so afraid to use it. There's just so many ways to get it wrong, I don't ever know where to start. So, I'm sorry. For implying that I'm any better. For not being there to help make decisions, or share their burden. For...being gone.”

“Sorry for storming off.”

Liir sat on the side of the bed. “It's okay. We both needed to cool down, I think. And I was treating it like an intellectual discussion instead of an emotional one. And you were more right than you knew, when you said you could only love me if I made my own choices for my own reasons. The same’s true in reverse. I can’t, and don’t want to control you, even if I disagree with some decision you’ve made.”

“So are you staying or going?”

“I'm staying. For the foreseeable future, at any rate. If you'll have me.”

Trism rolled over, his eyes puffy, and looked him in the eye. “You really mean it?”

Liir smiled. “I promise not to leave without saying goodbye.”

Trism lunged up and kissed him with such passion that Liir was left light-headed. When they finished, he held him closely in a tight embrace. “Why all the questions, then? If the answer didn't matter…?”

“It mattered,” Liir replied. “Just because I disagree with some of the choices you made...I'm not even sure that I'm right, or that there is one right answer. What I found out is that you were thinking of others the entire time.”

“Not always, I said that.”

“You're allowed to think of yourself, and people you love. But you still thought of how your choices would affect others, even strangers, and you didn't take those choices lightly. I needed to know that you’re not some charming, soulless monster like Cherrystone. If I'm going to be compelled — by magic or hormones — to love someone, I'd rather it be to a good person.”

“I don't claim to be that. But I do try.” He pulled back, but kept his hands on Liir.

“I'm also learning that you're surprisingly honest. I want that — a relationship where we can be unflinchingly honest, as much as possible. Not that you have to tell me every time I don't look my best, but I don't want you to keep issues to yourself until they boil over.”

“Hopefully this will be the hardest issue we have.”

“I should think so, unless there's another war.”

“Ugh, don't even joke about that.”

“I do have another question for you. Don't worry, it's an easy one.”

Trism gave him an exasperated look. “Your definition of ‘easy’ and mine might differ.”

“I've been thinking hard about why I'm attracted to you, and if I'm okay with that. But what do you see in me, after all this time? Was it just our hormones, by utter coincidence? Or is the selection of men out here just that bad?”

“A combination of those, I suppose. And maybe I let my feelings gloss over the fact that I don't know you all that well. But I remember I'd see you occasionally in the Home Guard, and you almost never spoke. But you weren't dumb; you'd hear something, and you'd furrow your brow adorably as you processed it. Yes, just like you're doing now. And I thought to myself, ‘there's a boy who thinks’. I don't know why I found that attractive — I'm certainly no genius — but I did. You're always thinking — sometimes too much, I'm discovering — but that's better than never, which honestly seems like the default for most people. They just do what they do, without ever questioning why.”

“You're more intelligent than you give yourself credit for,” said Liir. “But I never knew you were interested, back then. Why didn't you say something? You had the chance, that night before I left for Quadling Country. You didn’t much act like it when I returned, either.”

“I hope you know I’m sorry about how I acted then. I was in a bad place, to put it lightly.”

“So was I. You don’t need to apologize; you more than redeemed yourself.”

“As for before,” continued Trism, “if there'd been fewer people around, I might have said something. I was too worried about being found out. Most people turn a blind eye to what sport young soldiers get up to at night, but my parents would have been livid. It was made quite clear to me that my life would consist of keeping my nose clean, marrying well, and bringing prestige to the bon Cavalish name.”

“Funny. I had no parents and no expectations, but I can’t recommend that either.”

“It didn't help that you didn't seem at all interested in me,” Trism said. “Even drunk, you didn't respond to my hints at all.”

“It was my first experience with alcohol. I was more concerned with not having it all come back up.”

“Yes, I saw that. I also decided that you were in no state to do anything but go to bed.”

“Gentlemanly of you,” said Liir. “And no, I wasn't interested at the time. Nothing against you; I was just a late bloomer. Aside from my unhealthy obsession with that bastard Cherrystone, which I only realize in retrospect, that sort of thing wasn't even on my mind.”

“Sometimes I wonder if things would have been different between us if I had told you how I felt. Maybe not that night, but anytime while we were both in the Home Guard.”

“You wouldn't have liked me much. I lashed out at anyone who dared get too friendly with me, and I don't even mean romantically. Friendship, love, family — they seemed so far out of my reach that I actively rejected them. I hurt people in ways I'm ashamed to even think about. It wasn't until...Candle, I suppose, that that started to change. She nursed me back from the brink of death, and showed me that caring for another person doesn't have to mean you lose yourself.”

“I suppose I should be thanking her,” Trism said.

“She's a wonderful and kind person. You might disagree with her on politics, but otherwise I think you'd like her. She has a gift for taming animals, just like you.”

“ Anyone who's good with animals can't be all bad, I say. Do you think she'll ever come back to you?” The question was sincere.

Liir looked away. “She might forgive me, someday. But I don't think she'll come back; we've grown too far apart. And in a way, I hope she doesn't, for her sake. I've wasted too much of her life already.”

“Oh, don't get down on yourself again.”

“I'm not this time, really. First her father essentially abandoned her in a mauntery, then she got pregnant while saving my life, and then got shackled to me because of our mutual concern for Rain’s safety. She always seemed so enlightened and accepting of her lot in the life that she never sought out the life she wanted.”

“What life is that?” Trism asked.

“I have no idea whatsoever. I'm not sure she did, either. Now, maybe she can find out.”

“I know what life I want,” said Trism, smugly.

“That must be nice. What's it like?”

“It's not bad, at least on days when it seems attainable. I just want the usual, what most every human or Animal wants.”

“And what's that?” asked Liir.

“I want…” Trism started, enumerating on his fingers. “...a comfortable home; work that makes me feel useful, preferably involving animals; good food and clothes to wear; a warm bed; and a tall, handsome man to share it all with.”

“Not very ambitious. You're just listing things you already have.”

“Oh, do I now? Well, it wasn't easily done, you know. But you're right, maybe I can do better. You'll have to help me come up with some new goals to work on. I've always wanted to learn ballroom dancing, for a start. They have balls at Colwen Grounds we could attend. You could wear a cape.”

“You must be joking,” said Liir. “We’d scandalize the neighborhood.”

“Ooh, there's another good goal. See? We're great at this.”

“I think we need to shore up your existing goals, first. I believe there was something about…sharing a bed?” Liir asked, swinging over a leg to straddle Trism’s. They kissed, gently.

“Actually...I don't think so,” said Trism. “I could try, but I still feel drained from our argument. Not to mention it's almost dark, and I haven't eaten since breakfast. I want...my desire to be at its peak, or close enough to it, as well as yours. This time, especially.”

“To be honest, I'm not at my peak either,” admitted Liir. “I thought you'd want it. So I don't mind waiting — hopefully not too long.”

Trism gave him a flirtatious half-smile. His face caught the last of the sunlight, and Liir noticed, for the first time, that his eyes were a dark blue. He put that fact in the pocket behind his heart, and kept it open.

 

They went out to dinner at a nearby pub, where Trism was able to introduce Liir to several friends. Liir lost track of their names almost immediately, but they seemed friendly enough, and welcomed him to the area. He wondered if any of them were among those who’d advised Trism to forget about him, but nobody brought it up. When the subject of his livelihood came up, he told them he was a writer, and still looking for an editor. He was given a few suggestions, and Trism even offered to look it over, despite not being a professional. Later, they sat together on a bench and listened to the band playing. Liir leaned into Trism's arms, feeling remarkably at peace.

 

Afterwards, they went home, and Trism checked in on his stablehand Torrie. It was a slow week, it seemed, and she had everything in hand. She waved hello to Liir, a bit shy, and shooed away Trism's offer to help clean up for the night. He hadn't taken a full day off in quite a while, he explained. Soon, they went to bed. This time, Liir accepted the invitation to share Trism's bed, and they fell asleep with Liir's lanky body holding Trism's bulky one.

 

In the morning, Liir woke up first, feeling better rested than he had in months. He gingerly rose so as not to wake his sleeping partner, and went downstairs to heed nature and clean his teeth before returning. Trism was somewhat awake when he got back under the blanket, if the way he grinded his rear into Liir's hips was any indication. Well, now. Liir could feel the pleasant sensation of his blood moving southward, and soon his erection made itself apparent under his thin underclothes. Trism made a contented sound upon feeling it, and adjusted his body so it could slide in the cleft between his buttocks. They stayed like that for a time, slowly and rhythmically thrusting against each other, enjoying each other's warmth and presence. Over time their bodies became ever more excited, their breathing heavy. Soon, Trism could take it no longer, and rolled over to seize Liir for an open-mouthed kiss. Liir reciprocated at first, then recoiled.

“Blech,” he said. “Your morning breath is awful.”

Trism took out his pillow and dropped it on Liir's face. “You really know how to kill a mood,” he said jovially.

“I want to enjoy kissing you,” Liir said, his words a bit muffled from the pillow. “So sue me.”

“I'm teasing, it's fine,” Trism said, removing the pillow and then rolling over Liir to get to the edge of the bed. “I have to pee anyway. So I'll go take care of business. You, stay here. When I come back, how about if you have no clothes on.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Trism grinned at him, looking to Liir about twenty years younger as he did so, then made his way downstairs, getting one last look at Liir in before disappearing from view. “He's like a besotted schoolboy,” Liir thought. “And I'm no better. Just twenty years late.” After taking off his clothes, he thought again about what life might have been like if he and Trism had gotten together as young soldiers instead of waiting until Liir was a deserter and Trism, a dragonmaster. The dragons and the war would have intervened eventually anyway, but they could have had some experiences before then. But it was a moot point. There was no way to turn back time, and even if there were, he'd been in no emotional state to have a relationship at the time. He hoped he was now. He'd spent all his life doubting the love of others — from Elphaba to Candle, and even Rain, whom he'd always treated like a shy bird, liable to dart away at the first false movement. Doubting was easy, but maybe with practice, he could learn to trust.

 

His musings were interrupted by Trism coming back up the stairs. “Well now,” he said. “A naked man in my bed — what am I to do?”

“You probably have a better idea of that than me,” Liir said. “I confess to being a bit unsure about how this goes.”

“No worries; I'm out of practice myself. Just do whatever feels good, and I'll do the same. If there's anything you want me to do or not do, just say so.”

“For a start, how about you take your clothes off? Slowly.”

“At your command.” Liir knew by now that Trism was quite the show-off, so he thought it would be fun for both of them. He was surprised at the strength of his own reaction, though. He'd already seen him nude, but this was better, as Trism was showing off just for him. He took his nightshirt by the lower hem and peeled it up, revealing his strong, furry stomach and chest, then pulled it up over his head, turning the shirt inside out. His head popped out, his short hair disheveled, and worked his arms out one at a time, letting Liir watch the interplay of the muscles in his chest as he did. He tossed the shirt on a chair, then came closer to the bed, within touching distance. Letting his hips lean forward over the bed, he loosened his belt to let his breeches fall, revealing his hips and thick thighs. Liir could tell he was embarrassed about the giant scar over the front surface of his left leg, so Liir touched it, gently, watching his face for any signs of pain. Trism flinched at his touch, but didn't pull away. Liir ran his hand over the scar, feeling the strangely smooth skin, then leaned forward and gave it a slow, feathery kiss. He became aware of Trism's personal odor, which raised butterflies in his stomach, but he pulled back to let him finish his private show. Trism was wearing a Gillikinese style of loincloth made out of one strip of indigo cloth wrapped around his waist and between his legs several times. He went through the process of unwinding it methodically, turning a few times as he did so as to give Liir a good view from all sides. Finally, he unwound it all and let it fall to the floor, revealing himself in full. His pubic hair was a darker gold than the rest of his hair, and it framed the emerging, purplish head of his manhood nicely. Liir wasn't sure what to do with that yet, so he took Trism's wrists and gently pulled him onto the bed. Once he lay there, Liir crawled over him, and to Trism's surprise, started exploring him with his nose, breathing in his scent deeply.

“Did being an Elephant leave an effect on you?” Trism asked, amused.

“Sort of,” came the reply from under his arm. “I had such an incredible sense of smell — it felt like I could know so much about you from just that. I'm trying to recapture that sensation.”

“Is it working? Our noses aren't as good, I expect.”

“They're not, but up close, I can almost get it. You just smell so much like...well, yourself.”

“If you like that,” Trism said, confused but somewhat aroused, “you could try me at the end of a long day. I'd smell even more like myself.”

“Would you call me a pervert if I said yes?”

“I would, but lovingly.”

“Fair enough.” Liir gave up on his scent exploration and moved down to Trism's chest. It smelled nice here, too. Liir decided to try something in his limited repertoire that had worked on his wife, and took Trism's rather large, pink nipple in his mouth. It turned out that this move worked even better on men, or at least this man. Trism grabbed Liir’s head with one hand, the bedsheet in the other, and moaned and writhed as Liir licked, sucked, and nibbled at his teat like a particularly demanding calf. Oh yes, this was something he would enjoy doing regularly. Trism's reactions were too enjoyable not to.

“Holy shit,” Trism said. “Stop, stop, that's amazing, but it's almost too much.” Liir stopped obediently. “Damn — no one's done that to me before. How did you know? Is that something you like done to you?”

“Just a lucky guess. I like doing it, but receiving it doesn't do much for me. I wish it did — you were going nuts.”

“Damn,” Trism said again. “All right, let's focus on you for a bit.”

 

He pushed Liir so he'd roll over, then sat up. Where Liir had explored with his nose, Trism explored with his hands. He ran them over Liir’s shoulders, then over his arm, lifting it up to caress Liir's hand with his face. Liir reached out and rubbed his fingers against blond stubble and soft lips as they went by. Trism then repeated the process on the other arm, as if cataloging each aspect of Liir's body. He then ran his hands down Liir's torso, frowning slightly at how easily his ribs were felt and seen. He didn't let it bother him for long, though. Liir was underweight, yes, but there was still a sinewy strength there, and feeling it reassured him that Liir wasn't quite so unhealthy as he'd thought. His exploration finished for the moment, he cradled Liir’s head in his right hand, and began kissing him. Liir seemed used to keeping his mouth closed while kissing, but Trism wanted it open. He told him so with his tongue, licking around and on his lips until they tentatively opened, and their tongues met. At the same time, he ran his free hand through the modest covering of hair on Liir's chest, then further down to that on his stomach, then further down still.

Liir, for his part, was groping Trism’s back with one hand, and his chest with the other. God, but the man was all curves. Firm but giving. He felt momentarily self-conscious about his own bony physique, but that was quite forgotten once Trism gently took hold of his shaft, and began stroking it slowly. All he felt then was warmth, comfort, and the pleasure of being in a loved one's tender grip. After a few minutes of this, Trism gave him one last kiss on the forehead, Trism moved his head down to take Liir in his mouth. Liir wasn't normally prone to swearing, but he did then, repeatedly.


	5. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a change in perspective in this chapter. I figured, Out of Oz is primarily Rain's book, so it makes sense to bring her back in. Don't expect a lot of resolution for her, though - I'll leave that to other writers.

It was a late summer morning, and sky over Munchkinland was calm. It promised to be a warm day, and the farmland below was alive with the sounds of birds, cattle, and sometimes people. Rain flew on her broomstick, heading west. She'd finally crossed the Shifting Sands the night before, and was finally in Oz proper. It was refreshing to see green again, even if it was mostly cornfield. Not to mention bodies of water — Iskinaary had managed to teach her how to find water in the desert, but her eyes weren't as good as a bird’s, and it could take hours for her to find a good succulent or the rare oasis. Iskinaary was getting old, and couldn't do it all himself anymore. He was now napping — or resting, she could never tell — in the sticks on the end of the broom. She cruised at a modest speed so as not to disturb him. It was cool at this altitude, and the tan robe she wore over her clothes protected her from the sun. Daydreaming lightly, she thought she heard her name being called. When she slowed to listen more carefully, she realized that she wasn't imagining it.

Looking around, Rain spotted a rapidly growing speck flying up to meet them, easily noticeable by the billowing black cloak. A flock of Birds was close behind.

“Could that be…”

“Liir!” said Iskinaary, awake after all.

Liir waved as he approached. “Rain!” he yelled, grinning broadly. His black cloak turned out to be cut more like a coat above, but with wide tails that fluttered behind him like gliding wings. He climbed a bit higher than Rain, then hopped off his broom to hang from it with one hand. With the other, he gave her a hug from the side, which she attempted to return without losing control of the broom. “Welcome back to Oz. I'm glad you're safe. You, too, Iskinaary, you old hen. How are you?” He gave the Goose a hug as well.

“Do you need some help?” Rain asked, as Liir was still dangling.

“Oh, not at all, thanks. Here — watch this.” He took hold of the broom in both hands, then yanked it down while he somersaulted in the air, landing with a grunt on top of the broom. It was an impressive maneuver, except that he'd ended up facing the wrong way. “It needs some work,” he admitted. He swung his legs over one at a time to get himself oriented properly.

“You could start facing the other way,” Rain pointed out.

“Yes, but it tends to stop flying momentarily if I pull it down that way,” he said. “Not fun.”

“Listen, Liir, I'm glad to see you're flying again, but I'm exhausted,” Iskinaary complained. “Crossing the desert is grueling, even by air. I'm sore and hungry, and I expect Rain is too, though she never says. Do you have somewhere we can stop for a moment?”

“Yes, actually. Nest Hardings is down there, west-southwest,” Liir said, pointing. “If you like, you can fly on ahead. Look for the long building with a reflecting pool on top. You can get some food and a bath, if you like.”

Iskinaary stretched his wings. “That sounds delightful. I'll catch up with you later, then.”

“Molly, could you and your flock escort him down so he doesn't get lost?”

“Yes, indeed, sir!” was the reply from somewhere behind him, and the Birds behind him were off as well. Rain and Liir followed at a more leisurely pace.

After they'd gone, Rain asked, “Sir?”

“That's just how she talks,” Liir replied. “I think she has trouble with names. Molly is a Wren — Dosey’s daughter, in fact. Do you remember Dosey?”

“I certainly do.”

“She passed away last winter, but she had a long life. She was always willing to be a good friend — better than I deserved.” He paused. “But, how have you been? I was surprised that you came in from the east.”

“Speaking of, how did you know I was coming?”

“Birds, of course. There's only three broomists besides you in Oz, and you're the only green one. And all the Birds around here know that I'd want news of you.”

“Nice of them. Anyway, I've been all right. Traveling. Learning a lot. I went all around Oz to the north, as far as I could go. Ev...Ix...the Rose Kingdom, which isn’t as nice as it sounds. I just came from Hiland and Loland to the east. Practically indistinguishable, except for the people living there. The broom starts to fail if I go too far over the ocean, though, so if I want to go further I'll have to find another way.”

“You could always try a tornado,” Liir joked. “I almost don't want to know, but do you still have the Grimmerie?”

“No, I dropped it in the ocean the first chance I got. (“Good,” muttered Liir) I might try magic eventually, but I thought I'd check the south first after stopping back in Oz.”

“I'd love to hear about your travels. I hear about other countries from some migratory Birds, but they don’t really bother to find out about the human cultures there. Do you mind staying for a spell?”

“Not at all. I did plan to visit with you eventually, and Iskinaary could certainly use a rest. Actually, he's the one who insisted that we come back to Oz. I think he might be done with traveling.”

“You can sleep downstairs on the couch, or I can get you a room at an inn if you prefer. Iskinaary can stay here for good, if he wants. I don't have a replacement familiar lined up for you, but you could conduct interviews if you like.”

“What makes you think I want a familiar?”

Liir shrugged. “It's not good to be alone for too long. Even for you.”

“So what are you doing in Munchkinland? Nether How not doing well?”

“Funny you should ask, I found out last year that a farmer and his family moved in there. They're more successful than I was, though it's still hard living. I promised them an annual stipend to take care of the broom tree.”

“And you?”

“I make maps now. I do the surveying myself, and with Birds’ help, so they're the most accurate ones in Oz, if I do say so myself.”

“I could actually use one of those,” Rain said. “But I didn't know you even liked drawing.”

“I didn't. Now I do. Did you know that a lot of maps of Oz have west and east flipped? Some inscrutable tradition that still gets followed today, and what’s worse, sometimes landmarks don’t get flipped when being placed. So if you flip it back it’s still wrong!” It had the sound of an oft-repeated rant.

“Did you ever finish what you were writing?” she asked.

“I did. Not long after you left, though it took longer to get it ready for publication. I've written a few more since then. They're quite popular in some circles, but I only make enough money off of them to cover the printing costs.”

“Did you ever send it to the Lion? Or Ozma?”

“Brrr tells me that Ozma has read all of my works, but I haven't actually seen her. She's attending Shiz University now, under another name so as to avoid attention. You should find her, she asks about you.”

“Really,” Rain said, acting uninterested.

“Yes, really. Though again, I only know that second-hand. You could see your mother, if you need an excuse to go. She's there, too.”

“Candle — at Shiz? Why?”

“She's teaching a course on Quadling culture there. Maybe taking classes, too, for all I know. I would, if I were her.”

“Whose idea was that? Can her voice even reach a classroom?” Rain asked, thinking of Candle’s small voice.

“I think they have teaching assistants for that. As for whose idea it was, I have no idea. We don't talk, I just find occasional notes at the Chancel of the Ladyfish. There's also what I hear from Birds, so I know she's still there. Apparently there are some Quadling students at Shiz now as well, too, but she's still easily identifiable.”

“It sounds like you're spying on her.”

“I just want to be sure she's alive and well, even if she never talks to me again. I don't inquire as to her activities beyond that. Anyway, we're here. We can just land on the roof.”

It looked more like a small park, Rain thought as they landed. There were potted trees all over, a large, shallow pond in the middle, and a sort of bar on one side where Iskinaary was waiting on a Winged Monkey to chop up some fish. Birds were everywhere, in the trees, splashing vigorously in the reflecting pool, or just sunning themselves on the white terra cotta. Rain saw an Owl, a mob of Starlings, and a brightly colored Parrot hanging upside down from a tree. She knew they were Animals because many of them were chatting with neighbors — in particular, the Starlings were all arguing at each other at once, making quite a din. Liir strode — for walking casually was impossible in that coat — over to an attached building, greeting most of the Birds as he passed. A sign on the side of the building read “Ornithography” and was accompanied by a logo of a Wren drawing a map with a pen it held in its foot. Inside was a room covered in maps, on the walls and on drafting tables. One wall had dozens of sheets of paper arranged to form one giant map of Oz; smaller bits of paper with notes were pinned in populated areas, and a rope grid was overlaid for ease of copying. There were also a number of perches, currently pushed up against the wall. He propped up his broom by the door and hung up his coat on a peg, revealing a dark green shirt beneath; Rain did the same with her own broom and robe. She noticed that the needles on his broom had turned brown, like hers, and he’d fitted a leather saddle on it as well. There was a second, larger broom next to his — a spare, no doubt. She also noticed that Liir seemed taller than she remembered. She'd reached her full, impressive height before leaving Nether How, and she knew he still had a few inches on her, but he was holding himself straighter now. It was stuffy, so he went around opening windows.

“My workplace, as you can see,” he said. “Sometimes we have meetings in here. Outside I call the Aerie. All Birds are welcome, and that includes you, though they don't really have the best food for humans.”

“It's very nice.”

“Thanks. I'd like to have better accommodations for bad weather, though. Maybe a roofed area.”

“How do you afford all this? Do you charge the Birds?”

“I tried that once, but most Birds only get money they find on the ground. Or unguarded on tables. That wasn't great for public relations. Fortunately, last year we got a good sum of money for handling the Wogglebug infestation. It was almost a plague, and after the ruined crops the year before, all the governments in Oz wanted something done.”

“So you asked the Conference of Birds to help.”

“Actually, we call ourselves the Bird Nation now. Like Munchkinland, we're semi-independent, but still part of Oz.”

“What’s the point of that? To build little parks?”

“No. Well, partially. I wanted to make a comfortable spot for Birds to congregate, so we rebuilt the top of this stable. But more importantly, it gives us a voice in Oz’s governance. Traditionally, Ozians measure power in terms of property and wealth, two things that, by and large, Birds don’t have. So we had no power, and humans are free to do things like shoot down Birds for food without checking to see if they talk first. Now, we have services we can offer Oz and negotiate for as a group.”

“People shoot other Animals, too, sometimes.”

“Yes, true, though I don’t think it’s as common,” he said, taking down some of the pinned notes from the master map and pocketing them. “Anyway, I can’t solve every problem at once. The Birds say I’m one of them, so if I can help them in some small way, I will.”

Rain was slightly impressed. So Liir had decided to take action in his life for a change. She forced out, “I don’t know what to do about Tip.”

Liir thought about it. He had quite a bit of advice to give, but hadn’t actually expected Rain to want any. “You don’t have to,” he said, sitting on a stool. “But you should still talk to her. In person or by letter, if that’s easier.”

“She’ll want to know if our relationship will continue. And I don’t have an answer for that.”

“Is it because she’s not the man you thought she was? It’s not your fault if it is. Not everyone wants romance with both. Or either.”

“I think I can deal with that, though there might be some parts I’d miss. No, it’s more that instead of being a nobody, she’ll soon be the ruler of all Oz. The Ozma. Her life will be carefully regulated, and if I’m with her, so will mine. I don’t know that I can tolerate that.”

“It’s a big complication, to be sure. But your life will be as regulated as you let it be. You have your own power; you can always just pick up your broom and go.”

“Family ties you up. So do responsibilities. Could you pick up your broom and leave here? Permanently?”

“With the way things are now, no. But that’s the thing — I don’t want to. Your wants may change over time, and you just need to figure out what those are.”

“It’s been four years since I picked up the broom, and I’m no closer to an answer,” she said, furrowing her brow.

“And another twenty wouldn’t necessarily provide one, either. That’s why you need to talk to her. It will make things clearer. Maybe she doesn’t want, or can’t have, a relationship anymore. Maybe she would like to be just friends, which is also a nice thing to have. But right now, you don’t know either way. Listen, Oziandra Rain, you may not take after me physically, but it’s possible you may have inherited my capacity for indecision, particularly when it comes to relationships. But you can’t solve every puzzle by yourself. Nobody exists in a vacuum, save perhaps the former Emperor, who is hopefully starving in a cave as we speak. Sometimes you can’t know an answer without discussing it. So go to her. Tell her everything you’re thinking and feeling. Don’t hold back. It may be hard, but it’s worth the effort.”

Rain sighed. It was strange, getting relationship advice from her father. She felt like pushing back. “What would you know about it, anyway.”

“I’ve learned from my mistakes. My biggest regret is not learning sooner. But, there was still hope for me, just as there’s still hope for you. Let’s go downstairs, you’ll see what I mean.”

She followed Liir down the iron staircase. It first passed through a room that was mostly blocked off by a privacy screen. “Our bedroom,” Liir said. “Don’t get nosy, though, it’s a mess right now.” As they descended onto the ground floor, she saw a burly man about her height washing his hands in the sink. He was barefoot, and his plain gray work clothes were damp with sweat. Liir snuck up behind him, though he must have heard them on the staircase, spun him around, and leaned down to kiss him passionately while reaching around to cup his rear. Trism returned the kiss, but then broke him off.

“I think your daughter’s here,” he said. “This probably isn’t appropriate.”

“Your fault for being so tempting,” said Liir, (“Pervert,” whispered Trism) though he backed away, caressing Trism’s sides as he did. “This is Rain. Rain, this is Trism.”

“Hello. Wow, you really are green. I always thought it was exaggerated, but I guess not. It’s a lovely shade, at least.”

“Thanks, I guess. You must be the boyfriend, then. Hello,” said Rain, giving a little wave.

“Husband, actually,” corrected Trism. “We made it official this spring.”

“That was fast,” said Rain.

“It really, really wasn’t,” said Liir. “We’ve known each other since before you were born, you know.”

“I mean considering when Candle left.”

“Our marriage was dead even before then.”

“I suppose. At least you seem happy, that’s something. And you look a lot healthier than you looked in Nether How.”

Liir sighed. “You too? Everyone I know in town has said that. How bad did I look?”

“Half dead,” said Trism.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Rain, “but you definitely had more sunken cheeks and a lankier frame. Ever since you came back from your Elephanthood.”

“He really needs someone to take care of him,” said Trism. “He forgets to eat sometimes if he’s not reminded. Thinks he’s just a brain on a broom.”

“Thank you both for your compliments on my self-sufficiency, or lack thereof,” said Liir, but he seemed more amused than annoyed.

“We all need help sometimes,” Trism reminded him. “I’m just glad I’m not hearing comments about how I could ‘do better’ anymore. That was insulting to both of us. I did just fine.”

“You know,” said Rain, “I rather expected you to be fancier. Like some fairyland prince. It’s a little disappointing.”

“And you, Miss, are as direct as I was warned. I can look fancy when I want to. But there’s a time and a place. The stable’s busy this week, and Jahl’s sick, so we’re shorthanded. I’m going right back after lunch.”

“You need to hire some more people,” Liir admonished. “We’ll be getting that ranch soon.”

“Not for three months. And I don’t mind the work.”

“What ranch?” asked Rain, confused.

“We’re planning to buy one on the outskirts of town,” Trism explained. “Liir's idea. I can hire people to take over this stable full-time, and the extra space will let me actually raise and train horses instead of just stabling them.”

“And I get the roof,” said Liir.

“And he gets the roof.”

“It’s a huge building; it’ll make an even better Aerie than here.” said Liir. “Oh! Rain. Before I forget, sometime during your stay here, we should talk to Dorothy.”

“Oh no, did she get stuck in Oz again? What was it this time, a shipwreck?”

“No, we talk through mirrors. She’s still in her beloved America, for now. They have an interesting form of government there — not perfect, but I’ve gotten a lot of ideas. She likes to hear news of Oz, and she considers you a friend.”

“Hm. It would be nice to talk to her.”

“Good, I’m so glad. It’d be nice to have some confirmation. This one,” a thumb at Trism, “thinks I’m making it up.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Trism. “I said I couldn’t see her in the mirror, that’s all.”

“Well, if anyone else could, it’d be Rain. I just have to think of Dorothy when going to bed. Then I look into a mirror when I wake up in the night. If it doesn't work, I try again the next night.”

“You’re not afraid of messing with magic?”

“It’s minor, and it hasn’t caused any harm so far. Anyway. I’ve just noticed we’re out of bread,” said Liir. “I’ll dart over to the bakery. It’ll just be five minutes.”

“It’ll be ten minutes,” corrected Trism. “Walk, don’t fly. I don’t want those legs to waste away after all that effort building them back up.”

“Slavedriver,” said Liir, as he dug out some coins from a drawer. “Well, if I need to walk more, you need to fly more. You’ll never get comfortable if you don’t practice.”

“I know, I know. Maybe you can take me out on my next day off.”

“If you’re still scared of going too high, we can practice drops over the lake,” Liir suggested mischievously. “The broom will catch you if you ask it to, and it makes everything else seem like not a big deal.”

“No way in hell. I’ve seen you practice those and my heart skips just watching it. I’ll go higher when I’m good and ready.”

“He’s flying too, now?” asked Rain. “Seems like it’s contagious.”

“I knew his animal whispering skills were somewhat magical; he just needed a bigger broom. Turns out they have weight limits.”

“Or, maybe the magic’s in the broom and anyone can use one if they try,” countered Trism.

“People ask to try my broom all the time. Not one has flown yet.”

“Took me more than one attempt.”

“It ties in to my theory that magic is attracted to itself. I’d do more research, but I kind of like it just being a family thing, for now. I’m off.”

 

Once he’d left through the back door, Trism started setting the table, taking an extra chair from the living room for Rain to sit on. He poured her a glass of water from a pitcher. “This doesn’t, uh...melt you, does it?”

“It would be the first time if it did,” said Rain. “I didn’t inherit Elphaba’s water allergy or whatever that was. Thank goodness, it sounded monstrously inconvenient to me. So...does this make you my stepfather now?”

Trism looked at her in surprise. “Maybe? I suppose it could, if you like.”

“I've had plenty of parental figures in my life. I was wondering how you felt about it.”

“I hadn't really thought about it, but I've been told I'm quite good at being paternal. Or patronizing. One of those,” he added with a grin.

“How long has it been since you and Liir got back together? It feels like I've been gone for forever, but also no time at all. When I left, it seemed like he'd never leave Nether How.”

“It's coming up on three years now. And he really put me through the ringer when he came back, believe me.”

“He yelled at you?”

“No, though I might have. I mean he basically interrogated me to determine my character. It was hard at the time, but I’m glad he did. Now, if we have a problem, we discuss it. We don’t let it stew.”

“Well, it seems to be working. I’ve never seen him smile so much. I suppose you’re the one to thank for that, too?”

“I don’t want to claim that much credit. He was depressed when he got here, but he’s done a lot of work to get out of it. I may have given him a little push here and there, and of course we bring each other a lot of joy, but I couldn’t solve all his problems. It’s like he’s climbing a ladder. I can support him, but I can’t make the climb for him. Now he’s accomplishing so much, he hardly needs me anymore. But he wants me, and that’s better.”

“Accomplishments like Bird Nation?”

“Especially that. He downplays it, but it really is a big deal. They named him Ambassador to Oz, and he’s always trying to think of ways to make life better for Birds. And fortunately, what’s good for Birds tends to be good for Oz as a whole. He told you about the Wogglebugs?”

“He mentioned it.”

“The Birds already had quite a bit of goodwill for their help in defeating Mombey and announcing the return of Ozma. But it was preventing another ruined harvest season that really got them noticed, and that was his idea the whole way.”

“So he’s their leader?”

“Not usually — he prefers to have a more advisory role. He collects information up there in his map room, you know. And when General Kynot retired, he convinced them to vote on a new leader, putting into practice some of his political ideas. It still ended up being an Eagle, Kynot’s daughter in fact, but if she doesn’t work out, they can vote for a new leader in a few years, so as to make sure that she still works for the benefit of all Birds and not just herself.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is, but I think his ideas are good ones. I do some of his editing when he finishes a work, so I should know. He has a tendency to needlessly philosophize sometimes, or get off topic, but he has some remarkable thoughts beneath that. Anyway, back to your question, I’m not the only thing that makes him happy. He has purpose now — the Bird Nation, writing, drawing maps...even just flying to clear his head. He really loves flying now. I think maybe the Birds were right about him belonging with them.”

“Purpose doesn’t always bring happiness,” said Rain. “And there’s plenty of happy people with no grand purpose whatsoever.”

“It doesn’t have to be grand. You've got his love of argument, by the way. But I’ll grant that I don’t know what every other person needs to be happy. I just know what Liir needs.”

“That sounds taxing. What about you? Are you happy?”

“I was happy even before Liir came. By which I mean, fairly well content in my life, which is about as much as most of us ever get. Now...I’m more than happy. Happy is too simple a word. I am...loved. And I love. It’s more than I ever expected to have. As far as I’m concerned, I won.”

“Won what?”

Trism just smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I do appreciate feedback (even criticism, as long as it's constructive) so please leave a comment if you're so inclined.
> 
> Also, if anyone's curious about the title, it is indeed a reference to the Liza Minelli song of the same name. It kind of inspired this piece, at least as a mood. If you're not familiar with it (or even if you are, because it's excellent), I'd highly recommend checking it out after you finish reading. I especially love her 1972 live performance of it.


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